


Twelve Days of Supernatural

by samwords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Christmas, Coffee Shop, Demons, Destiel if you squint - Freeform, Gen, Kitten, M/M, Secret Santa, Vampires, domestic!Destiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 11:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2810144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samwords/pseuds/samwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Traci Ann, </p><p>Happy Christmas, and a wonderful New Year to you and your family. </p><p>- A selection of stories themed around Christmas, some happier than others. All centered around Castiel, Dean and Sam.</p><p>- In some Cas is human, in others not. There's one Endverse story. </p><p>Destiel if you look for it, otherwise Gen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve Days of Supernatural

**One Blushing Angel**

“I couldn't,” Cas protests.

“It's tradition,” Sam tells him quietly, leaning in. “You don't have to do anything else. Just a quick kiss.”

“C'mon honey, Mistletoe!” the woman says happily, leaning over the counter where she's just placed their drinks.

Castiel looks terrified but resigned as he steps forward. Sam is forced to take a sip of his coffee so he doesn't laugh. He watches over the rim of his cup as the nice shop owner is kissed at breakneck speed on the lips by Castiel. She seems satisfied finally and takes Sam's money, wishing them a “Happy Holidays!” as they leave the coffee shop, a bell tinkling somewhere above.

“I don't like this tradition, Sam,” Castiel says and Sam laughs until he's as red as Cas is.

**Two beige Trench coats**

“John Constantine,” Castiel repeats calmly, as though Dean just hasn't heard him right.

“Why is he dressed like you?” Dean asks with a frown, glancing over the British man who looks like he's raided Cas' wardrobe. Except his tie is wrong, and he's wearing the whole thing more casually than Cas could ever pull off. The angel has two modes – accountant, or dishevelled.

“He's dressed like _me_ , mate,” Constantine says, fixing Dean with a glare.

“He's a hunter,” Cas says. Though that doesn't explain anything.

Dean gives a skeptical huff, glancing across at his brother. Sam is all smiles and ushers them all properly into the bunker, urging everyone to sit and shoots Dean this subduing look that only serves to irritate him further. He wants to make this Constantine go through the checks – holy water, silver, all that crap – but he knows Cas would he made sure before bringing him here.

He looks between the pair of them, shivering a little. Dean feels like they brought in the cold, and he's been happily pretending there isn't a couple of feet of snow outside that he'll have to wade through once he gets a lead on this job Sam's found for them.

“What do you want, anyway?” Dean asks flatly.

“Sorry about my brother,” Sam says.

Dean hates it when Sam does that. Like they're an old married couple. Like he's being unreasonable. “Sorry _nothing_ ,” he grumbles. “Where did you find him?” he asks Cas, as if Constantine isn't even there.

“We collided in a demon fight, quite literally,” Constantine says, “he was a big bugger, Cas here saved my arse, I don't mind telling you.”

“Wow,” Sam says.

Dean grunts. Constantine can't be much of a hunter, he thinks irritably, ignoring the countless times Cas has pulled his ass out of the fire.

“So why are you here?” Dean asks.

“I brought Constantine here because of your case,” Cas says reasonably. “He has a wide knowledge of demons, far beyond the information I have seen even in the books held here.”

“Angels too,” Constantine says with a grin, looking at Cas. He takes out a cigarette and presses it between his lips. Cas watches mildly. Dean can see Sam's nose crinkle but he's too friggin' polite to say anything.

“Yeah, you can't smoke in here, buddy,” Dean says.

Constantine shrugs, pockets the cigarette and looks back over at Dean. “Castiel has filled me in on your...accomplishments. It sounds like some thanks are in order. Averting the Apocalypse? Not to be sniffed at,” he says with a nod.

Dean frowns but nods back, accepting the comment. Maybe Constantine isn't too bad. He still hates that he's wearing Castiel's clothes and the accent reminds him too much of Crowley for comfort.

“So can you tell us anything about a demon named Avaldiel?” Sam asks.

– - - - - - - 

Dean groans as Cas climbs back into the car, exhausted but perking up at the smell of hot food. As the only one who could probably stand for any length of time he was sent into the nearest Chinese restaurant, one of the few places Dean could find still left open on Christmas Day.

Dean looks into the mirror, seeing the two beige trench coats. “If I don't eat soon I'm gonna go blind,” he grumbles.

“Amen,” Constantine says.

Sam begins to question Cas about what he's bought them. Dean couldn't care less what's in those boxes, knows it'll barely touch the sides. He drives them back to the bunker, ignoring the ache in his muscles and the bruises pressing against the car seat. The demon smacked them all about pretty good.

Cas got out again when they arrived at the bunker, pressing the bags of food into Constantine's arms. Dean cast a warning look into the mirror, “touch it and die,” before looking back out to watch Cas open up the garage doors.

Dean pulled in and a few moments later they all grumbled their way out of the car, too tired to even bother plastering a brave face over their aches and pains.

“I'm getting to old for being thrown about,” Constantine said as they all sat at the table. It was a while before anyone replied, each of them happily stuffing their faces, except for Cas who sat quietly anyway.

“Yeah?” Dean said through a mouthful of noodles, “so what, gonna retire?”

“No chance of that fella,” Constantine smiled, “evil never sleeps, right? I'd rather die in action than sit on my arse letting demons take over.”

They fell into silence again before Sam offered, “Happy Christmas.” None of them had realized, and it didn't seem to matter much, but each of them nodded and muttered things about the New Year.

**Three smirks from Sammy**

Dean's eyes widen as he takes in the giant Christmas Tree. He has no idea how Cas got it into the bunker, though Sam's smirk tells him he probably had help. He has to admit it's perfectly decorated; the baubles and tinsel strung with precision, a layer of golden stringy-stuff making the whole thing sparkle. On the top there's an angel – white gown, wings, halo, the whole nine yards. Castiel looks so pleased with himself Dean can't help clapping a hand on his shoulder. He finally notices there are presents underneath, he can see the labels in Cas' immaculate script are written out to he and Sam. Dean sighs and buttons his jacket back up.

“Where are you going?” Cas asks. Dean can hear a note of disappointment.

“Shopping,” Dean answers.

“But it's snowing,” Cas says with a frown, pointing at the melting snow on Dean's boots, “and you only just got home.”

“Uh huh.”

\------------ 

Dean's good at wrapping presents. It's a military operation. He's got everything laid out, sat at the Bunker's generously sized meeting table. He snaps when Sam comes close on the pretence of offering Egg Nog, quickly covering over the presents that are for his brother.

“Give it,” Dean says, taking the drink anyway. He watches Sam carefully as he drinks, ready to smack him if he tries to peek at his own gifts.

“Is this for Cas?” Sam asks, picking up a blanket. It's thick, soft, blue with white edges. There are deer and antlers printed over it. Dean flushes and Sam smirks.

“Dude gets cold,” Dean says defensively.

\------------- 

It's just as well Dean's awake early, because Sam bursts into his room without even knocking. “Dean, you've gotta see this,” he says, almost breathless.

Dean's up in seconds, heart racing already. Fight mode. It must show in his expression because Sam shakes his head quickly, reaching out to put his giant hands on Dean's shoulders to steady him.

“Nothing like that,” Sam says assuringly. He grabs Dean's dressing gown and shoves it at him. “Come _on_ ,” he whines, and Dean can't help smiling.

It's cold as Dean walks through the halls of the bunker, but something smells amazing. Sam leads the way through to the kitchen and Dean's jaw drops.

Castiel has taken up every surface with food preparation. He's cooking what smells like bacon and Dean moves over to the cooker like it has a magnetic pull. He looks up from the sizzling pans to Cas. The dark haired angel smiles and pulls open the oven, showing Dean the turkey cooking inside. Dean's expression shifts from amazement to pure affection.

Sam smirks, watching the two of them. It's the best Christmas Sam can remember in a long time, maybe ever. But the look on Dean's face makes it.

**Four Demons Attacking**

Four demons figure out who they are and coordinate an attack. Sam and Dean are tracking a werewolf, too focussed on that to see the signs for what they are. But they take them out anyway, somehow scraping through.

Sam hurts his leg bad enough he's laid up for a week. Dean gets a cut on his hand, deep enough that he can barely use it at all. Neither of them want to ask Cas – who had sat out on this hunt - to wait on them, but he does it anyway. At least until he gets a cold that swiftly turns into the flu, and then it's back to Dean fetching them both food and drink one-handed.

Not one of them mentions Christmas. It comes and goes in a wave of tissues and leg cramps, aching muscles and “Uh, could you help me to the bathroom, sorry.”

Still, they're all alive, they're here. Dean's grateful for that.

**Five Vampires Singing**

The run up to Christmas was busy for Sam and Dean, though not for the same reason normal folks got busy in December. No, a Winchester Christmas was typically full of nasties lurking under the trees of unsuspecting families, demons who thought it'd be fun to dress as Santa and usually a ghost or two.

This year was no different, though Dean had to admit he'd never heard of Carolling Vampires. Apparently they were unusually good. People gave them clear descriptions, the ones who hadn't been sucked dry at least.

They ended up camped out in the Impala, moving around streets and carefully watching groups of carollers. Soon as they saw any group vaguely fitting the description they'd get out, walk past slowly, waiting to see if any of them went inside the houses or hung around.

If Dean heard 'Silent Night' one more time he was gonna hurl.

It was Sam who spotted them. They were watching a couple, they looked young and hungry. Their voices were okay, nothing especial. Dean figured they were just the regular kind of hungry, shrugging at Sam when the pair accepted the offerings of the house and moved on. Sam nudged him, nodding across the street.

“Dean,” he said quietly.

Strains of Silent Night reached his ears and Dean rolled his eyes as they crossed the street. The group were stepping inside, Dean could see there were a couple of figures lurking by the side of the house too.

“In front of civilians?” Sam whispered as Dean moved closer.

“Better that than they get bit,” Dean answered, raising his eyebrows. Sam frowned but didn't complain further.

An hour later the older couple owning the house had just about stopped shaking. The woman offered them hot chocolate but Dean thought it was about time they cleaned up, figuring deceased-vampire did not make for good Christmas cheer.

It took a long time to clean up, it was almost past midnight when they loaded up the final body into the car. The pair of them walked back up to the house, wanting to say goodbye to the couple. Dean hoped they weren't too badly traumatised but it was still better than the other option.

The guy shook their hands, looking wary but grateful. “Merry Christmas Boys,” the woman said, hugging them tightly, thanking them again. She slipped a candy cane into Dean's pocket, some chocolate into Sam's.

**Six** **Missed Calls**

Dean stares at his phone. Six missed calls. He dials his voicemail and sets it on speaker, listening to them while he gets dressed.

_“Dean, can you call me back? I'm in a bar. I've made some friends. I wondered if you uh...wanted to come out for a drink?”_

“ _Dean, I don't think I'm very good at drinking now that I'm human.”_

“ _Hello Dean. It's Christmas Eve...(cheering and bar noise)...cocktails?”_

“ _Hello again. Dean. Can you come and pick me up? I seem to have forgotten how to return home. And I've spent all of my money. It's Castiel."_

Dean shakes his head. It's morning now. He checks the time of the calls, sees they were gone 3AM and doesn't feel _too_ guilty. He plays the remaining two messages.

_“Deeeean. I've jus' realized, it's Christmas Day. Happy Christmas! Don't worry about comin' t'pick me up...I found'a car willing to take money in exchange for travel.”_

_“Shhh. Goodnight, Dean.”_

Dean goes through to where the television is set up, finding Cas sat on the couch looking very sorry for himself. Sam is sat beside him, rubbing his shoulder consolingly. "Man, you look terrible,” Dean says, dropping down into a chair. He yawns, glancing at the television.

Castiel spends the rest of the day sleeping off his hangover, even refusing the peanutbutter and jelly sandwich Dean offers him arround lunch time.

**Seven lost baubles**

“Look, I have hardly any left!” Dean complains, nodding into his drawer. Cas doesn't look, only nuzzles the small grey kitten fondly. Dean looks at him, frowning a little, “half the baubles are gone from the tree. I found tinsel in my friggin' coffee this morning. It's destroying everything.”

“ _She_ is learning to hunt,” Castiel says, pulling his gaze away from the kitten to look at Dean for a moment. “You of all people should understand that, Dean.”

Dean lifts his hands, giving up. The kitten falls over trying to get her own tail, he isn't sure how he 'of all people' should understand. “Fine, but why does it have to be my socks? She doesn't attack anything of yours.”

“Perhaps she feels safe with your scent,” Castiel muses, “it gives the reassurance she needs to learn what she needs to. I know that was how I felt, when I became human. You are an excellent teacher, Dean.”

Dean stares at the former angel. He should be used to Cas' unfiltered way of speaking, but he's not. This has potential to turn into one of _those_ moments, so instead Dean says, “you were smelling me? Dude, that's weird,” and leaves the room.

**Eight Latin Phrases**

Castiel prefers Latin to English. It sits closer to his native Ennochian and while he's proficient in all languages – a talent that fortunately did not disappear with his grace – he can't help favoring his first language. He crosses his legs, a book balanced on them and reads quietly. There isn't much need for Latin these days, not beyond exorcism rituals. The Apocalypse has done away with the need for books and research almost entirely. But that doesn't stop him reading in his downtime, and there's a lot of that.

He consumes books like it's the end of the world – which of course it is – cramming his mind with everything humans had to say about everything. On each mission he scavenges whatever he can find. Dean used to roll his eyes and mutter about there being no room in the truck for things like books, not when they needed food. Then for a while he'd bitterly ask why Cas even cared about this stuff, since he hated being human so much. Now he said nothing, which was worse.

The weather is especially bad this first winter since Lucifer took control of Sam. The cold frost kills off the crops they've attempted to grow in the field beside Camp Chitaqua. The snow has them trapped there, reliant on tins and whatever can be hunted in the woods. People have grown restless, snappy. Castiel rarely speaks to Dean, if he does it's was only to update him on whatever task he's been assigned.

It is a surprise then when the Hunter-turned-Leader knocks at his cabin (Dean never knocked), holding something neatly wrapped in newspaper. “Hey Cas.”

Dean sets what he is holding down onto the small table beside Cas' bed. He looks at Cas, meeting his eyes for the first time in months. He seems to be working something out, Cas can see the muscle in his jaw working. He slides the Latin book from his legs.

“It's Christmas,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn't know what to say. He looks at the item, lifting it to feel out the edges. “A gift?” he questions. Dean nods and turns away to leave.

“Happy Christmas, Dean,” Cas says quickly, tearing a strip of the paper to reveal a book. He can see that it's new. A book about Philosophers and the best ideas of humanity. He smiles softly, watching Dean leave the cabin.

**Nine gingerbread lattes**

Dean stares at the cream topped glass, picking the tiny gingerbread man off the top. He can feel Sam's eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. He's already done his bit – “why can't you just bring back a normal goddamn coffee, Sam?” - and now he's supposed to pretend it's awful, but hey, maybe he'd drink another. Except he takes a mouthful and it's like Christmas landed in his mouth. Of course he's not gonna say that to Sammy. He licks the cream off his lips and glancing at his brother with a frown, shrugging lightly.

It's only when Sam's telling Cas about them that Dean finds and excuse to order another. He huffs, grumbles, “I guess we can go, if Cas really wants to.” Though Cas mostly seems indifferent and Sam has this smug sort of smile that makes Dean want to punch him in the arm. He orders three, makes them sit inside since he's not risking it all spilling inside the Impala and it's too cold to sit outside.

When they're all done, even Cas, Dean glances up at the counter. He could get another. Sam orders for them, silently bringing back the drink and placing it in front of his brother.

Before they leave town Dean swings by again, this time content in admitting that he likes the drink, that the “gingerbread man on top just adds something, I don't know,” and earns a raised eyebrow from Sam.

“I find it uncomfortable that humans would create a likeness of themselves to consume,” Castiel says, earning raised eyebrows from Sam and Dean. He takes the gingerbread man out of Sam's drink and snaps pieces off until he's made small wings for his gingerbread man, showing it to Cas before shoving it into his mouth.

“Better?” he asks, grinning.

**Ten Pies Eaten**

Sam knows he's onto a losing battle questioning his brother's eating habits, but by the time Dean pulls out yet _another_ pie and settles down with a fork he's got to say something. “Don't you think you've eaten enough pie?” he questions mildly, pushing his hair back with a hand.

“Nope,” Dean says simply, shoving a generous portion into his mouth.

“You're gonna get sick, all that sugar and-”

“What are you, my mother?” Dean asks thickly around the cherry pie. Sam presses his lips together and doesn't say anything else.

Later they're watching _A Christmas Carol_ on TV. Dean's gaze is stuck on the screen, the remainder of his earlier pie plated and balanced on his leg. Sam tries again. “You know if you keep eating like that, next monster we come across? Better hope you don't have to run.”

Dean runs a hand self-consciously over his shirt, sucks in his stomach. “Shut up. It's Christmas, this is my winter layer,” he says, frowning at his brother.

“I'm just saying. It wouldn't kill you to eat something green.”

“It _would_ ,” Dean says seriously, looking back to the TV.

“How many is that, this week?” Sam asks.

“Ten,” Dean says sheepishly, not looking back over. “Cas decided he should learn to bake.”

**Eleven Rooms Need Cleaning**

“This is just something I have to do alone,” Dean says, sucking in a breath.

“Dean, you can't. It's too much on your own,” Sam says, though his tone suggests he isn't all that bothered. Dean shakes his head.

“Find something else to do. If it gets too much, I'll call in Cas,” Dean promises. He picks up the bucket stuffed with dusters and polish, heading off into the depths of the bunker. He can't trust Sam with this – he's too easily distracted, has never liked cleaning.

Eleven bedrooms. He needs them all clean for their guests. Christmas has become something of a monster, with Sam inviting anyone without a place to go to the bunker to spent Christmas with them. Dean gets to the sixth room before he prays for Castiel, making sure Sam isn't around before he gets Cas to mojo the rest clean.

“You're staying, right?” he asks, right as the angel goes to disappear again.

**Twelve episodes of Star Trek**

Dean has the best presents ever. He's watching _Star Trek_ , a stack of other Sci-Fi by his side, a hand shoved into a giant tub of candy. Sam has fallen asleep beside him, full of turkey and potatoes. Cas sat down by his feet, leaned against the couch and looking up at the TV. Dean's glad the fallen angel found an affinity for sci-fi. Sam's never been a fan.

“Can we watch this next?” Cas asks, lifting the _Buffy_ Boxset.

“Sure, there's uh...” he glances at Sam, making sure he's really asleep before he carries on, “the musical episode is great. We've gotta watch 'em in order but I swear, it's the best musical episode of anything ever.”

“You like musicals,” Castiel says.

“I like music,” Dean corrects, glancing at Sam again.

Cas turns round to look up at him, his blue eyes narrowed in thought. “Can we sing?” he asks.

“What do you mean?” Dean questions, wondering if this is just some strange fallen-angel question.

“I mean, can we sing some Christmas songs?” Castiel clarifies, “I've seen and read that it's traditional at this time of year, but the most I've heard either you or Sam do is hum jingle bells.”

"No, no chance,” Dean says immediately. The crestfallen look in Cas' eyes makes him sigh. He looks up at the television. Castiel for the most part fits into their happy, dysfunctional interpretation of life, but sometimes Dean feels like an asshole for saying no. Mostly when what he's asking for is out of innocence, out of a belief that there's a right way to do everything, even Christmas. “Do you know any songs?” he asks Cas after a moment.

“ _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ ,” Cas says.

“You're kidding,” Dean says, though he's not sure there was any option he wouldn't have groaned at. He clears his throat, reaching for the remote to pause _Star Trek_.

He starts to sing, getting a few lines in before he realizes Cas hasn't joined in. “Why aren't you singing too?” he asks.

“I'm listening to you.”

Dean starts again, feeling self-conscious. It takes him a while to get into it, but he does. He feels Sam stirring a little beside him and almost stops. Dean remembers singing to Sam when he was a kid. Nothing like this, just stuff he knew to get him to sleep. Pink Floyd, Zeppelin, anything to encourage Sam to keep his eyes closed. He doesn't stop and as he draws to the end of the song realizes his brother is awake and watching him.

Dean looks back down at Cas, blushing at the way both of them are smiling at him. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Sam says, putting an arm around his brother.

“Alright then,” Dean says, looking away from both of them. “Can we go back to the show now? I wanna finish at least 12 episodes before bed.”

Castiel nods and turns back round. Sam stretches out his long legs and sits up to face the screen too as Dean hits play on the remote. Dean smiles to himself. Maybe it's not anyone else's idea of how Christmas should be, but he thinks it's perfect.

 


End file.
